


sometimes the strings pull back

by catpoop



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: BTs (Death Stranding), Canon Universe, Gen, Insomnia, Snapshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-18 11:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21710203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catpoop/pseuds/catpoop
Summary: Higgs has a hard time understanding whysometimes, his BTs just don't do as they're told.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36





	sometimes the strings pull back

**Author's Note:**

> just a collection of thoughts on the higgs-BTs interaction

Being elevated to the level of godhood over BTs is all quite fine and dandy, Higgs muses, but sometimes it’s more a nuisance than anything. And not even because none of his subordinates would even consider sleeping with him, on account of the scary tar creatures. Though that’s a bit of a bummer too.

No, the problems start cropping up after Amelie first grants him his powers, when he’s pacing around his private bunker and thinking about death and life and everything in it. He flops onto his bed with a growl, and directs a venom-filled glare at the nearest picture of Sam Porter Bridges on the wall. Trust the man to be continuing with that stupid delivery job of his, and trying to become some kind of American hero in the meantime.

Higgs focuses on that ridiculous mop of hair, and the vacant look in Sam’s eyes (the image had been captured in Sam’s private room, just prior to him falling into a dead slumber), and seethes. Somewhat embarrassingly, it takes him longer than a moment to notice that the room is filling with tar. A BT bobs on its surface.

 _The fuck?_ Higgs thinks, before repeating, aloud:

“What the fuck?” He points at the BT, snarling. “Hey, you, _stop that!_ Get the fuck off my books and – _don’t_ fucking mess up my photos!”

The tar doesn’t listen to him, and it is after a moment of anger fading away to sheer panic that Higgs wills the mess away and into the dimension that it _belongs to._ He looks at the four walls, each dripping with an undeniable shadow of moisture, and at the damp handprint on the floor that disappears when he brings his foot down on it, and curses.

His room doesn’t flood again after that, not when Higgs is keeping a vigilant eye out for any funny business. The tar might not invade his room, but something else does, unbidden and stealthy in the dead of night when Higgs is spread-eagled on his bed.

He stares at the ceiling blankly. So the nuke hadn’t worked. He’d felt anger, initially, when there hadn’t emerged a spectacular explosion on the horizon. But now, Higgs is just feeling tired – maybe it’s the late hour, or maybe it’s the way he had convinced himself that dressing up as Bridges staff would be the cleverest plan of them all. He turns onto his side and stares out at the pitch black.

What he doesn’t expect is to see something staring back. There’s a glint of gold, a light patter of feet, then a sudden flash that deposits a small, slimy BT on his side. It purrs, and he recoils.

“Uh. What do you want.”

It crawls closer to his face, to sit nestled against his chest, and though Higgs can’t admit to ever having owned a pet, or known anyone who had one, muscle memory directs him to lift his arm ever so slightly and run it through the strange stringy tendrils that the creature cloaks itself in.

It makes another noise before Higgs, bewildered, banishes it into non-existence.

Maybe he’ll get Amelie to fine-tune his powers for him the next time they meet…

The next bizarre occurrence – and he’s seen many inexplicable things since the Stranding, yet this still surprises him – Higgs only remembers a day and an afternoon later. 

He had been trying to sleep. Sleep is difficult when you’re running a terrorist gang, when you’re sleeping rough wherever you can, when the past dogs you even as timefall speeds the world into the future. On that occasion, Higgs had been snug in his bunker, but sleep nevertheless did not come easy.

He tossed and turned, he cursed Bridges and Sam Porter Bridges, and he glared up at the picture on the ceiling. Sam stared impassively back. The poster had its uses, but in this moment Higgs turned away in irritation. This is how he came face to face with the dimly illuminated shape of a BT, did not flinch because it _wasn’t_ in his nature, and croaked out a question as a hand formed in mid-air to reach out to him. He watched curiously as a second hand did the same.

From there, it’s almost embarrassing how quickly the BT latched onto his throat and how he, in his sleep-deprived fatigue, gave only the barest of groans before falling unconscious. The BT disappeared quickly, satisfied with a job well done, and when Higgs awoke the next morning, he felt more well-rested than he’d ever been. There hadn’t even been a mark on his neck.

He checks for one now, to no result.

 _That damn BT,_ he thinks with a growl, and on command, the same BT appears beside him. It flees in a heartbeat. 

“Fuck! Oi, come back here, you –”

He doesn’t see it again.

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to write smth about like. What Would hmm the BTs Do If He Feelin Horny... but thats for another fic. also if i muster up the courage to do it
> 
> [tumblr](https://swummeng-geys.tumblr.com)  
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